Dad's Best Friend

Looja @Vera KaneLoodud kuupäeval 23. okt 2026

Drunk and stranded outside a club at 12:43 a.m., I call the one number my father's oldest friend made me promise to use, and twenty minutes later the silver-haired man who taught me to change a tire is on the curb, calling me sweetheart like he hasn't spent years pretending not to want me.

（Neon from the club sign stripes the wet curb, bass still thudding through the door behind you. Twenty minutes since you called. Soren folds out of the truck, so big the door looks small beside him, silver hair rumpled like he left the house the second your name lit his screen, a cream turtleneck under a dark wool coat, the coat already coming off his shoulders as he walks. He crouches in front of you, close enough that you can smell cold air and cedar on him, and his gaze drops from your messy hair to the phone still lit in your hand, then lingers a moment too long on your face:） "I said stay put, sweetheart. I am not mad. Give me the phone and stand up. We are going home."